Karma?

When I was younger and [pretended that I] didn't know better, there were a few times that I may have overindulged in libations. And then paid for it the next day.

I shared with you the highlights my decadent Amy Da- I mean Presidents Day. And last night the karmic hangover showed up in the form of a mean ole bug in Willa's tummy. From 2 am on, I dozed with one ear constantly connected to her needs. I'd hear a gurgle and would present her with "the bowl."

She's such a sweet kid. Right after she'd finish and we got her cleaned up, she'd smile and say, "I feel better now, mommy." Then she'd nuzzle her feverish forehead against my neck. Poor kid. She's napping in our bed now, with Arlo and Greta standing (more like co-napping)guard.

Jim has a fatalistic view of good times on a roll. He worries when things are going too well. And when the occasional bad thing happens, he tells me it's the balance of the universe. I tell him it's just Life unfolding, and there's no message there. And then we watch "My Name is Earl."

Over the weekend, while on our tour of NW lower Michigan we were having a wonderful time. The kids were great traveling buddies, the meals were good, the pools were fun, the room was more than we needed, Jim and I were really, truly enjoying each other and the kids. I was thinking, "this is what Valentine's Day should be." Kind of a floating holiday/kick in the pants to express appreciation for the folks around you. Like Thanksgiving, but with more chocolate. Jim, it turns out, was worried about what bad thing was going to happen.

Life happened while we were giggling with the kids in the pool. It was fun, we were smiling. Willa and I emerged from the locker room, showered and dressed and ready to venture outside. Jim was holding Henry in the hallway, also dressed, but his feet were bare.

"Where are your shoes?"
"Someone stole them."

We spent some time that day trying to shake off the feeling of violation. "People suck," he said. "Naw..." I replied, "just one person in this instance."

Willa sadly declared, "I want daddy to get his shoes." And I reeled at my disappointment in some people who do, indeed, suck.

And then I said honest-to-goodness prayers out that the shoes would be found. That, maybe, someone accidentally grabbed his size 13 shoes thinking they were their own.

The hotel has not called. Jim, graciously, has not said, "I told you so."

So, tell me, pals... do you think that the universe has some mechanism that slaps you around a little when you get too comfortable?

Missing shoes aside, it was a terrific 2 days. Here's photographic proof: